


The Song of the Basement

by VioletsDaisy



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:29:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29794017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletsDaisy/pseuds/VioletsDaisy
Summary: Oneshot - Christine is orphaned and left in an orphanage where she hears beautiful music from the strange basement which follows her throughout her life.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	The Song of the Basement

The sound was beautiful.

She had never heard something so breathtaking in all of her eight years of life. Her father, God rest his soul, had moved her with his music from a small age. She’d followed him across Europe, memorizing every lilt and note her father's violin made in small shows he could procure. She had been most assured no one would compare to him.

Yet, she was breathless to admit, her father’s music held no candle to the haunting, alluring, notes that drew her down into the belly of the tall orphanage she had been forced to inhabit in the passing months.

She had been dusting when she heard it, or the lack thereof, she’d never been good at listening. Her mind was always in the clouds, thinking of far-off fantasies that she wished would rescue her from her dreadful memories and way of life.

It was as if the music was calling to her, pulling her under some sort of spell, and drawing her in. She barely realized she was walking down the basement stairs toward the sound until she bumped into the railing rather sharply.

It didn’t take much longer for the bump to the wall to draw attention to her and her wrist was snatched up by a tight grip and she was forced up the stairs by none other than the mistress who ran the place.

Madame, as she was forced to call her, she had no idea what her true name was- glowered down on her like the evil queen her father had read to her about in folk stories.

“What did I tell you about going down there?” Madame bit off as if it truly pained her to speak to her. Her glassy green eyes were narrowed into such slits that Christine wasn’t sure how she was seeing.

The grip on her wrist hurt.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry- I heard music and I -“

“You heard nothing! There is nothing down there! Do I need to bring Doctor Forsyth back here to examine you further?” Madame threatened dangerously and Christine gulped, thinking of the way the doctor had prodded her and asked her invasive questions about her father.

“N-No Madame, I’m sorry I won’t... I won’t do it again,” she promised, heat on her eyes as tears attempted to fall.

It wasn’t until Madame had left her with the demand to finish her chores before supper that Christine realized the music had stopped.

She chanced a look back to the basement stairs, willing herself to remember what the music sounded like. No, it had to have been real.

Her imagination was rather active, her father has always praised her for it, but she knew without a doubt she’d couldn’t have conjured up such a beautiful song in all of her wildest fantasies.

Christine couldn’t get the song out of her mind. It stayed with her when she slept when she ate when she did her chores- even when she was placed in a corner for not staying in line on their outing throughout Paris. The birds had been rather sweet looking and she’d paused to look at them briefly before she had been scolded.

Christine knew it had to have been a piano. Was there a piano in the basement? She longed to ask if there was one but she was too afraid to do so.

For days she didn’t hear the song except for in her head. She found herself humming it to herself. To help her fall asleep. To keep herself going. To keep herself from falling apart in this torturous new life she’d found herself in.

Then, she heard it again.

She was outside in the courtyard, the other children playing. Christine never bothered with getting to know anyone, they had made their thoughts of her known. She was odd. Different. Got in trouble all the time. She was a liability to be with. She knew that. She’d come to terms with it.

Near the building, she sat under a tree, reading a book she’d found. She didn’t understand all of the words, but she did her best. She remembered her father's gentle teachings of how to read.

Then she heard it.

It had been in her head for so long that at first, she wondered if she was truly imagining it this time. It wouldn’t be the first time her mind sent her into wondrous fantasies.

Yet, this was too real. It was low, quiet, and with a look around herself, no one else could hear it she realized.

She settled back onto the tree, trying to make herself believe that it was happening in her head. She closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. It reminded her of her father. The way it lifted the soul from the body and drew it away. It made a tear escape her eye, her heart somehow connected and longing for her father's warm embrace.

An embrace she’d never feel again.

Then it was over and her eyes fluttered open as if waking from a dream, and she blinked repeatedly to remove the moisture that had collected there.

“Just a dream,” she murmured to herself, wondering for the first time if perhaps she was going mad.

She was by the basement. This time because she wanted to get to the bottom of what she had heard. Too long she had let this mysterious music plague her and she wanted, needed, to know that it was real.

To avoid getting caught, she waited till everyone was asleep to investigate. The door to the basement was locked and so there was no way of knowing if there was a piano inside. She held her breath, putting her ear to the door, trying to hear any sound.

There was nothing.

She knocked with one finger, absently wondering if she was making a fool of herself. There couldn’t be anyone in there, right? This was all just her imagination.

Even so, Madame’s adamant claims of never going near the basement were rather suspicious in itself. Perhaps she was hiding something? Someone?

When she didn’t hear anything respond to her knock, she frowned. Perhaps the knock had been too light.

“Hello?” She murmured low enough to not wake anyone but loud enough for someone in the basement to hear, at least she hoped.

There was no response. Perhaps they were sleeping too?

“Is there anyone there?” She asked the door, her hand resting on the old wood and placing her ear to it to listen. “I heard music, beautiful music and wondered if someone was inside? Is there? Hello?”

When still no response came, Christine dropped down to her knees, wearing her thin dressing gown, and rested her head on the door in disappointment. “It’s just as well. I’m beginning to think I’ll be alone forever,” she sighed sadly, feeling the hole in heart as empty as ever. “My papa went to heaven a couple of months ago. Pneumonia, they said. I’m sure Mama and papa are happy together. I just wish I could be there to see them smile,” she told the empty basement. “My papa used to play music too. The violin. He brought tears to even the sternest eyes. Your music makes me think of him...” she took a staggering breath. “Do you think you could play the song again? It’s been in my mind since I heard it the first time. It’s okay if you don’t want to, I’ll understand...”

She let her words trail off, the hopelessness overwhelming her. She so wished to be with her father again. Smiling, laughing, hugging, sleeping under a blanket of stars, cuddled up together to keep warm, his violin making happy or sad music depending on his mood... never again would she see or hear him again.

“Are you lonely too?” She wandered to the basement. “I'm sure you are if you’re stuck in a basement all the time. Madame doesn’t like me coming down here. Tells me she’ll call the doctor and tell him how crazy I am. I don’t think I’m crazy. Papa never thought I was crazy.”

She knew she was rambling but she’d barely spoken a word to anyone since coming to the orphanage and she so wished to talk to someone. Even if it was a figment of her imagination, it felt nice to speak to someone.

She rested her head back against the wall by the door and closed her eyes. Perhaps she was crazy, speaking to no one as she was.

The song that always infiltrated her mind swirled in her head and she began to hum quietly, lulling herself, reminding herself she needed to be strong. To be brave. Just like her father had asked her to. Just like he always said she was.

When she began to feel tired, she forced herself to her feet and made herself prepare to go back up to her cot. “Thank you for listening,” she told the basement. “If you ever want to play your song again, I promise to listen to it.”

She touched the door once more before leaving.

Christine would never admit it to anyone but she enjoyed sneaking after hours to the basement to speak to no one. She did it every night, telling the emptiness of her thoughts, her dreams, what happened throughout her day. How cruel Madame was but excusing her because perhaps she had a rough life herself and it wasn’t easy managing all these children on her own. She spoke of the children, saddened and broken as they were, and how they never came near her. She spoke of her father. Traveling with him and playing his music. She sang to the emptiness, songs that she had learned with her father.

It wasn’t until she had fled her bed after crying uncontrollably one night after a gruesome day that she dropped down in front of the door, sobbing softly. “They want to take me. Adopt me. I don’t want to go with them. They seem nice and they have a son and we’re around the same age but they’re going to make me go to finishing school and stop singing and I don’t want to stop singing.”

As usual, she heard nothing in response and she cried harder, although careful not to alert the sleeping inhabitants of the orphanage with her sounds. “What do I do?” She asked between breaths. “I have no other choice, do I? They’re going to make me. It’s not like I want to live here of course- I hate it here, but no one will love me like papa... no one will understand me like papa.”

Christine cried herself into a stupor and she almost wondered if she was going to wake someone when she heard it.

Music. The song. Her song.

Christine immediately stopped crying. Her wet eyes widened into large ovals and she stared at the basement door. It began quietly, then got a little louder, as if whoever was playing the piano had been hesitant at first.

Then Christine was on her feet. It was the first time the piano had played with her there. She hadn’t heard it since that one time in the courtyard and she had convinced herself up until that point it all had been in her head but it wasn’t! It wasn’t.

She could hear it. Just as if she was in the room herself. It was calming to her ears and made her energetic, wishing she could know who it was behind the door to play such beautiful music. Who had been the ear she’d needed throughout her time there.

When the song ended and the last note rang around her, caressing her gently, she pressed herself to the door. “You’re there aren’t you?” She asked, breathlessly. The effects of the song, the comfort, and the knowledge that someone lay behind the door. “You’ve been there all along haven’t you?”

When no response came, she swallowed thickly through emotion.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for the song. For... everything.”

With a heavy heart, Christine left two days later with her new family. It wouldn’t be until years later that she’d hear the song again.

Christine was engaged. To a handsome man that she had been courted by for quite some time. He was warm, friendly, and he enjoyed spending time with her. He was a couple of years older than her but it hardly mattered. He was well off, thanks to his upstanding family, and she knew she’d be in high society for the rest of her life.

The time in the orphanage, the time with her father was far behind her and her imagination had been dimmed, suppressed to instead think of duty and expectancy. She had little time to think of such fantasies and she kept it to herself.

She was very much a different person. A quiet, meek woman. No longer the disobedient little girl with her head in the clouds. However nothing was completely gone and she often saw creatures in the clouds, heard music on the wind, and she wondered often if there was perhaps something more out there for her- but as soon as the thought would enter her mind, she squashed it with the reminder that what she had was what was for her.

That is... until one afternoon as she held the arm of her fiancé at the Palas Garnier. He’d become their patron most recently and she was enamored with the whole world inside of the opera house. She’d been there often and was entranced by the magic of the stage, the productions, the stories, the music, and the voices. The idea of herself in place of La Carlotta was thrilling.

Speaking with Raoul about such things was off-limits. No woman of someone to his standing would ever be caught on stage such that. It would tarnish his and his family’s reputation. Let alone her own.

He left her to peruse the empty stage, as he took care of business with the managers and she was immediately enamored with the beauty.

It was then that she heard it.

She knew that tune. Would know it anywhere. It had changed only slightly but she knew it. This time, it wasn’t on a piano though. It was on the violin.

She followed it blindly, unaware of where she was going. Strangely enough, the melody had the same effect on her, even years later. Even though she was a different person.

She found herself on the stage, then behind the curtain, then under the backdrops of the upcoming productions.

She looked above her, hearing the song rise to the heavens. Her eyes closed. The notes surrounding her like a warm caress. Like her father's arms. Her cheeks warmed. Tingles spread over her skin.

What was this?

“What are you doing back here?”

She jumped as if she had been burned. A tight-faced woman with dark hair pinned to her head stared her down suspiciously and Christine momentarily had a glimpse of Madame from the orphanage briefly pass through her mind.

The music stopped.

“I-I’m sorry, I was just...” she glanced upwards distractedly, “... exploring, is all. My apologies.”

The woman stared her down and then crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re Christine Daae, correct? The Vicomte's fiancé.”

Christine's heart fluttered wildly in her chest. She still wasn’t used to being called that. “Y-Yes, Madame.”

The woman considered for another couple of beats before taking a deep breath. “Well, off with you. My girls need to rehearse for the upcoming production.”

Christine quickly found her footing. “Oh! Of course. I’m sorry to intrude.” She quickly began her departure but paused at the curtain. She turned back to the woman who was still staring. Christine swallowed nervously. “I beg your pardon Madame but did you hear the music that was playing a moment ago?”

The woman’s face turned completely blank at the question and Christine’s spine tingled. She did, didn’t she? She had heard it.

“No, mademoiselle. I did not. You just be hearing things.”

Christine bristled at the statement and didn’t respond, unable to. There was absolutely no way the woman hadn’t heard it. It was not her imagination. The song... it wasn’t.

Whoever had been down in that basement with her in the orphanage was in this opera house. She could feel it in her bones.

It took a few more trips to the opera house with Raoul before she was finally able to walk around on her own once more. This time, she had ventured up toward the roof.

Raoul had taken her there once briefly to show her the beautiful scenery of Paris, claiming it to be romantic. It had been stunning and she often thought of it.

However, this time she wondered if she’d find who she was looking for.

She hadn’t told Raoul about any of it. Not even what had happened as a child. She still felt rather anxious about it all being inside of her head and she didn’t need him to think her mad.

As she walked through the corridors of the opera house, she distinctly felt like someone was watching her. Five steps away from the roof door, she stopped.

The air felt colder almost. She shivered.

“Is someone there?” She asked into the empty hallway, wondering if there was someone who worked at the opera house around.

There was no response.

Could it be...?

She spun around, hoping to see someone, but all she was met with was a vacant corridor. Dismayed, she turned back around to head for the door ahead of her.

The Paris air caressed her bare skin and she smiled, looking up at the clouds as she came to a stop in the middle of the roof. Statues surrounded her and she felt like she was a part of the architecture.

Alone. She felt alone.

She knew she could love Raoul. He was wonderful. She enjoyed his company. Yet, she was unable to truly be herself with him. He didn’t understand her stories or her folk songs she often sang to make herself happy. He often changed the subject when she spoke of anything personal and it was as if she needed to pretend.

She hated it. But this was her life now.

She had no choice.

She was humming before she realized what she was doing. Clasping her hands together, she let the hum fall into a folk song. One that she often sang with her father when he’d been alive.

She twirled, trying to remember how he’d held her hands and they’d spin in circles until they got dizzy and fell apart laughing.

How she missed him. If he’d not gotten sick, how different her life would be. She may not even be with Raoul. Or standing on the roof of the opera house.

She’d be free. She’d be home.

She sank to the ground in despair, not caring that dirt would soil her skirts. Tears came and flowed down her cheeks in rivulets. She pressed her palms into her eyes to stop them. Crying would do her no good.

“Why did you stop singing?”

Christine jumped at the sudden voice and she spun around in her seated position to see who had spoken. She didn’t see anyone. Blinking away her tears that she was momentarily forgetting, she frowned. “Who’s there?”

“Your voice has changed. It used to be so pure. What happened to it?”

Christine swore she heard the voice right behind her and if she wasn’t currently looking around herself at the empty rooftop then she’d have expected there to be someone - not just someone, a man- standing there.

It was a man’s voice.

She shakily got to her feet. “Who’s there?” She asked again. “How do you know me? Show yourself.”

There was no response after that for a very long time. So long that Christine assumed she was now alone on the rooftop.

She let out a breath of pent-up air and tried to collect herself. Perhaps she was just hearing things.

Then... ever so softly, she heard the melody. Her melody. The one that had forever haunted her dreams.

Momentarily, she was swept up in it, unable to form a coherent thought. It was so beautiful, even on the violin. How could it be so beautiful? It was unearthly.

As the final note ended and drew out into the air, Christine opened her eyes that she didn’t even realize she’d shut at some point. “You...” she breathed out, her lips parting in disbelief. “It’s you isn’t it?” She whispered but assumed he could hear her. “From the orphanage.”

“Why did you stop singing?” Was the response, the words quiet and sad, caressing her mind like a flutter of a hand.

Christine swallowed back her surprise and tried to keep the conversation going. This was, after all, the very first real conversation she’d had with him. It was a him! “My life changed after I was adopted. There was no time for me to sing.”

There was a drawn-out silence before she couldn’t take it anymore. “Your song... it... it’s amazing. I’ve never heard anything like it. It’s been with me ever since I first heard it.”

“We are similar then,” he murmured. “Your voice has been with me been since I first heard it. It pains me that your voice has grown weak.”

Christine felt herself flush. She had no idea who this man truly was and had been almost unsure of his existence but he felt like a childhood friend. She’d told him everything. He knew everything up until her departure. His opinion of her voice mattered.

“I apologize for sounding so horrible,” she stammered. “I... don’t have the time to pursue music as I once did as a child. My fiancé and his family believe me to be a straight and narrow woman with finishing school in my past.”

“Fiancé...” the word swirled around her like a breath. “You are to be married then... to that boy who brings you here.”

It wasn’t a question but she nodded, even though she was unsure if he could see her. “Yes. In the spring. He... he will take good care of me.”

“And yet he doesn’t appreciate your voice.”

Christine blushed again. No, Raoul didn’t. He probably hadn’t heard her sing much anyways. A song here or there quickly stifled.

“I suppose not. I enjoy his company though.”

“Do you? You speak of him as if he is an acquaintance.”

Christine whirled around, wishing she could see who this man was. “That isn’t true. Raoul has been a very dear friend to me for a long time now and it’s only natural that-“

“You don’t need to explain to me,” he chided, cutting her off. She snapped her mouth shut in embarrassment. He however continued. “I was a friend to you once, correct?”

Christine's heart fluttered in her chest. Of course, he had never responded so could it be considered a friendship? Yet, she knew within her heart, she did think of it that way. “Those nights... speaking with you through the door, it was what kept me going. It got me through one of the hardest points of my life and I can never repay you for being there for me. So yes, in a way... we were friends.”

When there was a long pause, Christine looked again around her. “Won’t you come out? I feel like I’ve been talking to no one all these years. May I put a face to my friend?”

“... No.”

Christine frowned and grabbed her arms to protect herself from the awful rejection. He hadn’t said it in a mean way, however, the finality was clear.

“So I can never meet you face to face? Did...” she stopped herself, suddenly thinking of something horrific. “Did Madame hurt you? Why were you locked in the basement all that time? How did you get out?”

“Another time.”

Christine’s heart jumped wildly in her chest as the door of the roof swung open and out walked Raoul. He caught sight of her immediately and smiled gently.

“I thought perhaps you had wandered here,” he told her warmly and took her hands. “Shall we go have our luncheon?”

Christine felt her skin prick at the ever-watchful eyes she assumed came from the voice she had just spoken to. “I...” she couldn’t tell Raoul. He wouldn’t understand. He would think she was mad. Or worse, find the owner of the voice and accuse him of something horrid. “Yes of course. Let’s go.”

Raoul led her away from the roof and the voice and the music and the pull of a man that she now knew was not a figment of her imagination.

Since that time she finally heard his voice- his melodic, soft voice, she couldn’t get it out of her mind. Questions swirled unanswered and she wished she could speak to him again. To know just what had happened to him.

He was, after all, the most treasured friend of her past.

It took months before she was back at the opera house and she feared he wouldn’t be there. It was cold and snowing when she exited the roof door and she held her warm cloak around her to keep her body heat close.

“Hello?” She asked into the winter afternoon air. “Are you there?”

When there was no response, she was disappointed and she couldn’t stand the crisp cold on her face any longer. She returned inside.

Only to see a dark shadow disappear down the hallway and around a corner. Intrigued, she followed it. Could it be him?!

“Wait!” She called out, hoping to stop him. If it wasn’t him, she could find a reason to excuse her behavior. But she knew... she knew it had to be him.

When he didn’t stop, she continued, almost tripping over her dress and cloak to keep up with him. He ducked another corner and she forced her legs to quicken. She couldn’t let him out of her sight.

“Please wait- I... I only want to talk to you!” She pleaded and she rounded another corner after him, only to be grabbed by a wrist and forced up against a rather warm wall and a hard surface at her back.

Breathless from the impact, she snapped her eyes up and met the most golden eyes she had ever seen. She gasped. In the cavern, she was currently in a dark shadow and so she barely could make out any of his features- but his eyes.

They were practically glowing.

“Are you mad?” He breathed furiously. “Do you have a death wish?”

Christine shook at the ferocity in his voice. This was him. It was him. “I- I found you. It’s you isn’t it?” She trembled in excitement and anxiety and she realized he was still holding her wrist. His fingers were long and engulfed her. Pianist hands, she mused. Of course. She rose her other hand, blindly trying to find him in the dark.

She was met with cool fabric instead of a face- to which he violently released her and threw back against the wall to remove himself from her.

“I’m sorry!” She said immediately, feeling guilty for trying to touch him. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just I - for the longest time I thought you were simply my overactive imagination. That I had thought you up-but here you stand. Flesh. A person! I... I am -“

“Disappointed?” He finished for her in a rather biting retort. She blanched at his tone.

Her hands fell to her sides. “No, not in the slightest. I... I’m glad. Relieved even.”

She watched his shadow move ever so slightly and she stared, unable to keep her eyes off of him in fear he’d disappeared.

“It’s been months,” he replied quietly and she felt her heart clench at his mournful voice.

“I know, I apologize. I wanted to come back, believe me, but... there was little else I could do if Raoul doesn’t bring me...”

“Your betrothed.” He straightened in the shadow and she suddenly noticed how tall he was. Taller than she’d ever seen someone.

“Yes,” she breathed. “He’s the patron-“

“I know what he is,” he snapped and Christine shut her mouth, feeling as if she had been chided.

“You’re angry with me. Why? Is it because I followed you?”

“I...” he trailed off uselessly and she watched his eyes shut briefly before leveling on her. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”

Christine’s heart jumped and began beating hard in her chest. He had missed her? “I’m sorry, truly I am. If I could have come sooner, I would have. I...” She swallowed before admitting honestly. “I’ve thought of nothing else since we spoke last.”

His breathing was loud and quick in the cavern and she held her breath as she tried not to focus on how embarrassed she felt.

“Why?” He asked her, his voice hoarse.

“Why?” She echoed dumbly, staring at the shadow before her. Why indeed. This man had a hold over her since before she even knew who he was or if he was real.

“Why Christine? You have a life. A family. A fiancé. Why think of poor, pitiful Erik?”

His depreciating remark of himself alarmed her, but not as much as the revealing of his name. Or the way he spoke her name in such a breathless sort of way that made her knees weak.

Absently she realized Raoul never had that sort of effect on her. Sure he was nice and funny, and she enjoyed spending time with him and had convinced herself that she could see herself married to him- but what was happening here?

She shook herself into the present as she felt him move closer to her, expecting an answer. “I... you are special to me.”

Christine knew she wouldn’t be able to lie to him as she did with the current people in her life. She never had. Even as a girl. He knew all of her darkest thoughts. This... Erik.

“Special?” He murmured and she felt herself being backed into a corner as he towered over her. She could feel his body heat warming her.

“Yes,” she whispered, steeling herself. Making herself brave enough to confront this. “I’ve never been so open with someone in my life.”

“Not even... your betrothed?” He questioned, bemused.

Christine shook her head but froze when she felt a small wisp of a hand flutter near a curl on her shoulder. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. She felt the electricity regardless. “Raoul is kind but he doesn’t understand me. I couldn’t possibly tell him... tell him everything.”

“But you can tell me. You can always tell me,” he told her earnestly and her heart fluttered, wishing she could see him. Actually, see him.

“Christine? Christine where are you? It’s time to leave!” Raoul’s voice echoed through the corridors.

Christine jumped, brushing Erik’s arm in the process and feeling him tense rigidly under her. “I have to go,” she whispered.

“Must you?” Erik breathed, longing in his voice that she didn’t mishear. She felt guilty for leaving him. Something told her he was very much alone and whatever reason that had kept him locked in a basement was still holding him hostage from the world.

“I promise I’ll come back. I don’t know when... but I promise I’ll come back.” She felt in the shadow frantically, hearing Raoul’s voice continue to call for her. She finally found his arm, steel and thin under her hand. It felt like he may shake her off but he didn’t and she smiled sadly. “I promise,” she vowed and then released his arm to find Raoul.

After Christine was married, they moved to Nice and she never step foot back into the Palas Garnier. Forever in her mind, she’d always think of Erik. His music. His voice. How alone he was. How he had been her one true friend in this world.

But more importantly, how she had abandoned him. She had broken her promise.

Life went on. She had a child. A son. He lived to be eight months before he passed away and she was left with a cold heart and a weary outlook on life. Her marriage with Raoul had been nothing but warm and comforting until that moment and it wasn’t long before they went their separate ways.

Christine holed herself up in her parents' house, feeling like not only had she failed as a wife but also as a mother. If only her father could see how broken she was now.

Paris. It was where she lived once more and the closest she’d been to the Palas Garnier in years. Would he still be there? Would he care?

Christine had nothing else to live for and so she found herself on the roof of the opera house one afternoon. Alone. Cold. Broken-hearted. She sat on the cold floor of the roof and sobbed.

Sobbed for everything that had gone wrong in her life. What could she have done though? She’d done her best. What else was there for her?

That was when she heard it.

Her song.

As always, he was there. Unfailingly comforting her effortlessly. Even though she didn’t deserve it. She had failed as a friend to him as well. He shouldn’t be doing this. He should be hating her.

“Erik...” she sobbed his name. “Oh, Erik.”

When the final note rang out, she heard footsteps but she was too frightened of his reaction to turn and look at him.

It was then when a hand reached her face, she looked up into a black-masked man with golden eyes. Eyes that seemed to peer right into her soul and tell her that everything was going to be all right.

“You came back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I am not sure where this came from but I wanted to share it in case anyone else would enjoy it.


End file.
